Peter Mutune, the soldier who fitted the fighter pilots for State House bombing mission on August 1, 1982, narrates about the day which shocked President Moi forcing him to change his leadership style

On the night of July 31/August 1, 1982, a group of rebel Kenya Air Force soldiers disastrously attempted to overthrow the government of Kenya.

The soldiers took over the public broadcaster, Voice of Kenya (now Kenya Broadcasting Corporation), wreaked havoc on the streets of Nairobi and even tried to bomb the State House and the General Service Unit headquarters, which houses the offices of the paramilitary wing of the police.

The rebels forced two KAF fighter pilots Major David Mutua and Captain John Mugwanja to fly F-5 jets to carry out the bombing mission and the soldier, who equipped the officers for the task, was one Private Peter Mutune.

The then 24-year-old Mutune had joined the Air Force in September 1979 and did his basic training at Lanet until March 1980. He subsequently went to the Eastleigh Air Base for another six months to train as a safety equipment mechanic.

"This involved the maintenance of aircraft seats, safety belts, survival kits and helmets among others." It was then as safety equipment mechanic that he was posted to the Nanyuki Air Base on completion of his training.

On July 31, 1982 Private Mutune had been caught with a muddle up of military uniform and civilian clothes which landed him a lock-up in the guardroom for the whole day. He was however released in the evening because he was on duty the next day. It was his work to issue pilots with flying gear in the F-5 and Hawk jet fighter section.

"As it was the end of the month, most of the soldiers were out of the base either visiting their families upcountry or entertaining themselves in the town (apparently soldiers only enjoy the untaxed low-priced beer in the mess when they are broke), so very few of us were in the base.

"There was no tension or any signs of untoward things pending and the few of us in the soldiers mess took a few drinks in a boring atmosphere before retiring to bed."

However early in the morning at around six, a fellow soldier went round waking Mutune and others up, loudly wondering why "you are still asleep and the government is now ours. Wake up quickly and go to the armoury". At the armoury the soldiers were each armed with a gun, but they were not given any further instructions.

With guns slung over their shoulders, the servicemen just loitered around in the camp that lumbered in an atmosphere of confusion. Not even the mess was opened for the soldiers to take breakfast.

At eight, Private Mutune went to his office and sat behind his desk, gun still dangling over his shoulder, an unusual thing as one only carried a gun for a purpose. On this day, no soldier knew for what purpose they had been armed.

Later that morning he received a call from the control tower informing him that two pilots would be flying out and that he prepare flying gear for them. However he found this odd, as every pilot had their own racks where their gear was kept yet he was not told for which officers he was to prepare the kits.

"You would only prepare the gear when the particular officer arrived as you did not know who would be flying out, so despite the order, I stayed put until the two officers came."

They turned out to be Major Mutua and the late Captain Mugwanja. (Before Mugwanja passed on a few years ago, this writer had tried to get this story out of him but he resolutely preferred to take the secret to the grave).

Mutune equipped the two highly skilled F-5 Tiger fighter pilots to fly out on a mission that would have forever changed the face of Nairobi and changed the country's landscape for generations. Not long afterward, the two came back and returned the flying gear to Mutune.

"As a junior officer, I could not ask the officers what was happening but I heard one mutter, 'Nairobi is in a standstill'. At that time it was practically impossible for senior officers to engage on anything except give instructions to junior officers."

These officers had been rounded up in their houses and at gunpoint ordered onto their cockpits on the mission to bomb State House and the GSU headquarters. Had the officers obeyed the orders of their juniors, the coup plot casualties would have gone into thousands and the damage to property would have been colossal.

It is believed that the two tricked the inexperienced soldiers and while in the air pretended to obey their captors but in fact did mind-boggling manoeuvres with the high performance jets, a mission that saw them safely drop their wares over the Mount Kenya Forest.

Like many other officers who were innocent of the coup plotting and execution, Mutua and Mugwanja were, despite their heroic and suicidal acts, dismissed from service and would remain jobless for years. However when he passed on, Mugwanja was a captain with Kenya Airways.

Surely, time is ripe for Kenya to thank these officers and recognise them as the heroes that they are.

At around lunch hour, Mutune left the office and as the mess was still not opened, relaxed under a tree with a few of his friends and waited - for what they did not know.

"At three o'clock army soldiers came into the base and went straight to the runway and we went up to them hoping as they had come from without, they could tell us what was going on. They however rebuffed us telling us to organise ourselves our own way and let them do their own thing." But the understanding was that the army soldiers and their Air Force counterparts were on the same side; the side of the new government, but in essence the army was preparing to round up and capture the Air Force soldiers.

Presently from where Mutune and a few of his friends were idling, they heard gun shots and then saw their fellow Air Force soldiers being led by the army to the large supplies store, where they were locked up. "We also lifted our guns above our shoulders as a sign of surrender and went towards the store."

Here they were forced to kneel down before their guns were seized and they were herded into the store. "Inside the store we were harassed and ridiculed as the army sought to sarcastically be told where 'our president was'".

The next morning they were forced on the hot runway tarmac where they spent their day without food or water only to be taken back into the store in the evening when for the first time they were given food. For the next three days as they underwent interrogation, they spent time on the runway whether it rained or shined.

On the fourth day they were taken to Kamiti Maximum Prison where Mutune and others were kept for six months. They would later be transferred to the Naivasha Maximum Prison where they again underwent interrogation for another three months.

"We were called in for grilling individually as our interrogators tried to break our spirit and make us confess to something we had not been party to and many succumbed."

However among the prison warders there was a friendly officer, who would walk faster than his juniors during inspection and as he passed along mention something that would eventually save some of the Air Force captives.

"He would pass near you and tell you not to fall prey to the interrogators' honey-coated promises, but not all heard or heeded his warning."

The questioners would entice the captives with such 'heavenly' goodies they had not seen or tasted for months, like tea or cigarettes, as they in a feigned friendly way urged them to confess to coup plotting and to sign such confessions. "They told us that those who confessed would either be re-employed or retired with all benefits."

Unfortunately those who gave in were taken straight to Lang'ata where the court martial cases were being held and simply sent to jail on the strength of their confessions.

Those who did not confess, Mutune included, were driven to Kamiti for a night and then taken to Kahawa where they were stripped of the now tattered Air Force uniform. "There we found a heap of blood-stained and dirty clothes of all description (which must have been collected from the streets or taken off dead bodies after the coup attempt) and our captors told us to raid the heap and choose whatever fitted us."

Once 'properly' dressed, they were given bus fare dependent on where one came from. Mutune got Sh17. "We were then loaded into a truck and dropped at the Masaku bus terminal.

Since then apart from a short stint as an insurance salesman, Mutune has never had a formal job and for years has been reduced to a fruits salad hawker in Kikuyu town.

The father of three and now a grandfather remains a rebel in the eyes of the authorities as even in this digital era nobody has seen it fit to lift that tag away and award him a good conduct certificate. "I have applied twice for the certificate in vain."

Does anyone see the unfair resemblance of this injustice and the proscribing of the Mau Mau movement from 1950 to 2003?